Having fled the Tsukimori residence, it was already noon.
After one mishap after another, Samael had only managed to fill his stomach with a few snacks. As he reached the shopping district, the bustling voices around him, the curling smoke, and the smells of food being fried, grilled, and cooked inevitably stirred his appetite.
Just as the Ancient Serpent was hesitating between tempura, sushi, and other traditional Japanese dishes for lunch, a dry, pungent scent drifted from an alley ahead. It instantly overwhelmed every other smell, rushing from his nostrils straight to his head, leaving him invigorated and making his nose itch.
Mm, the familiar recipe, the familiar smell...
"Achoo!"
Samael sneezed heavily, rolling his eyes slightly as he glanced sidelong at the deserted shop deep in the alley, and at the chef behind the counter wearing a white headscarf and blue apron, with eight absurdly defined abs exposed on his stomach.
With that exaggerated build and those muscles, he looked less like a chef who spent his days growing fat and more like a battle-hardened fighter.
As the wind chime rang, a customer—practically an endangered species for this shop—walked in, took a seat, and placed an order.
"One Mapo Ramen. Make it mild, please."
"You mean different from usual, right?"
The chef leaning over the counter saw the newcomer, and the corner of his lips beneath his silver hair quietly curled into a delighted smile.
Seeing that, Samael smiled faintly, slowly raised his middle finger, and spat out a clear syllable.
"Get lost!"
Based on his many years of dealing with the man across from him, that question, stripped of its qualifiers, definitely meant he was up to no good.
Different could mean milder, or it could mean spicier—turning him into test material for some new product.
"Forget it.